


Exercise, Not Exorcise

by PuppiesRainbowsSadism



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boyking!Sam, Canon Divergence, M/M, hellfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-14 00:53:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1246582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuppiesRainbowsSadism/pseuds/PuppiesRainbowsSadism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a drabble I posted on Tumblr:</p><p>Hades/Persephone (ish) AU where boyking!Sam takes Castiel as a hostage during a war between Heaven and Hell, promising the return of the little angel in exchange for his brother’s soul to be transferred to Hell. Heaven holds up their side of the deal, but before Sam can send Castiel back, the angel eats a strange fruit that he’s never seen before out of sheer curiosity. And it’s not like Sam wanted to give back this pretty little angel, but now he has an excuse to keep him around as a consort of sorts. Castiel, of course, is pretty upset that he can’t go back home, but when angels Fall, they Fall fast, and Castiel quickly warms up to life with his king.</p><p>First chapter is set up. Second chapter will be story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waiting for an Executioner, Waiting for it to Happen

**Author's Note:**

> There are several problems with this. The first and largest being that the whole point of posting the AUs in drabble form was because I wasn't going to write them, yet here we are. Second being that I already HAVE an unfinished fic that I need to be working on, but decided to distract myself with this instead. Third being that this isn't even the one that people were demanding a fic of; I just wanted to write it.
> 
> Whatever.
> 
> Title from a quote by Anton LaVey, author of The Satanic Bible: "There is a beast in man that needs to be excersised, not exorcised.” He has some other really good quotes too, like “We are so inculcated with guilt that we think that weakness is a sin or that it is some crime against nature to be submissive.” You should totally go check him out.

Sam didn’t go in blindly. No, he did plenty of research before making any life-changing decisions, and this counted as a life-changing decision if he ever knew one.

In a way, Sam always knew what it would boil down to, as soon as the first demon denied him a deal. But he kept trying anyway, looking for any sort of spell or ritual or loophole that would give him his brother back. When Ruby found him, he knew he had run out of options, but that was fine. He knew exactly what he was getting into, thanks to a handful of very talkative demons, and as soon as Ruby had pitched her argument, he none too kindly told her to cut the bullshit and help him take over Hell.

                “Straightforward. I can respect that,” she had smiled. Sam just rolled his eyes, intending to be rid of her as soon as his place at the throne of Hell was secured.

                So he let Ruby teach him, training to control the powers he was supposedly born with. They started with tasks that Ruby called “child’s play” and Sam called “impossible” – moving a pen across the table, for instance. He struggled with it for days, both of them getting more and more frustrated as time went on until finally Ruby snapped.

                “You want to bring your brother back? Do you _really_?! Because this is fucking pathetic. If you’re going to have _any_ hope of getting Dean out of the Pit, you’re gonna have to fucking _try_ –“

                That was the point that Sam shot up from his chair and shoved Ruby against the nearest wall, his vision painted red with fury. “Don’t,” he growled. “Don’t you _dare_ accuse me of something like that. Of not _caring_ – of . . . ” With a flick of his wrist the pen shot across the room and lodged itself in the wall. Ruby looked impressed, but Sam was too pissed to notice. He stormed out of the cabin and didn’t return for three days.

                After that his progress was slow, but steady. It wasn’t two months later that Ruby decided he was ready to try exorcising a demon and immediately had one ready, tied up under a Devil’s Trap for Sam to work over. Well. He didn’t exactly work the demon over as irritate him, the fact being that he wasn’t focusing, getting impatient. He’d heard that time was different in Hell – ten years for ten days, one month to a week, the accounts varied. However long it was, Sam was just now learning to exorcise demons, and it was really beginning to eat at him that it’s only a fraction of the time Dean’s been in Hell.

                Ruby started to get irritated again, but instead of yelling at him this time, she pulled him to the side, offered something that might help, make him stronger. It was tempting, but Sam declined before she could even tell him what her magical solution was. If he was going to do this, it had to be on his own terms. Being the King of Hell was a lifetime kind of deal, and he couldn’t afford any crutches. No, if he was going to do this, he was going to do it right – with the power he already had, no matter how long it took.

                Turns out, it took him just over a week to learn how to do it. It took him another month and a dozen more demons to be able to exorcise easily and begin killing. Ruby praised him with every success, but it meant nothing to him. He wouldn’t be successful until his brother was by his side again.

                When Ruby finally declared him ready, purring it in his ear like a seduction, Sam felt something close to fear for the first time in a long time. What if he failed? What if all this was for nothing? Ruby assured him that the chance of failure was slim, that nearly all demons were loyalists and were waiting for Azazel’s chosen Boy King, which did nothing to calm Sam’s nerves. The closest thing he had to a consolation was that, if he failed, most likely Hell would decide to keep him for torture, and if nothing else, that meant he would be with Dean.

                She taught him about the workings of Hell – what ruling would entail, different classes of demons, how the hierarchy worked, notable names, what happened to certain souls after they got there.

                “Your brother sold his soul,” Ruby said, “so he’s on the Rack.”

                “With Alistair.”

                “Right. You want Dean back, you have to get to Alistair first. Scare him, but don’t kill him until he leads you to your brother himself.”

                “How do we get there?” Sam asked immediately, steeling himself for the worst, even though he was assured he would be greeted with celebration and praise.

                “Well, first, you have to kill yourself.”

                Sam eyed Ruby suspiciously, unsure if she was serious and unwilling to trust he if she was.

                “I’m kidding,” she laughed.

                “It wasn’t funny.”

                “Jeez, take a joke. Can you blame me for being excited? Do you have any idea how long we’ve been waiting for you? You’re like our Messiah, Sam.”

                That was less than comforting.

                The actual way to get there was through a portal. There were several portals to Hell scattered around the world. All they had to do was open it and step through, which with Sam’s powers, would be easy. Ruby wasn’t wrong. Walking into Hell was like stepping out from a cozy home and into freezing rain, but somewhere where it was muggy, not crisp like in New England. Honestly, Hell didn’t look much different. Sure, it was a bit old-fashioned in aesthetics, and Sam was sure it would look much more hellish the farther he explored, but at the moment he was inside what he supposed was a castle or a mansion – stone floors and walls decorated with ornate rugs and tapestries. If Sam didn’t know better, he would swear he had stepped through a portal into Victorian England.

                “Come on,” Ruby ordered, leading the way with her head held high, her eyes flitting to black as soon as she stepped through the portal. Sam followed, trying to exude the same air of confidence while still taking in his surroundings with wonder. Hell wasn’t even hot, really. Just a little warm.

                When they reached the end of the corridor, they were accosted by two demons who, frankly, didn’t look like anything special but were undoubtedly guards.

                “You’ve got some gall to show your face back here,” one of them growled at Ruby while the other shoved both her and Sam against the wall with a snap of his fingers. Sam’s first instinct was to fight, but Ruby was smiling, calm and collected, so he waited it out.

                The demon who called them out got right in Ruby’s face, one hand reaching for a knife at his side but not quite drawing it yet.

                “Heard you’ve been under the radar since you escaped. Tell me, what could _possibly_ make you want to come back? You got some sort of death wish?”

                “Not exactly,” she smiled coyly. “I just thought you might be ready to meet the Boy King.”

                The demon’s surprise showed on his face for only a moment before it was replaced with a loud, raucous laugh that sent chills down Sam’s spine. “What, _this_?” He gestured briefly towards Sam, paying him no mind. “You expect me to believe that _this_ is the Boy King? You’re crazier than I thought. Must’ve been topside too long.”

                Ruby gave Sam a look that was obviously supposed to carry a message, but he didn’t get it until her eyes flitted towards the second demon and she said, “Would you care to prove him wrong, darling?”

                He would have blanched at the pet name had he not been held securely to the wall. All the same, he focused on the demon Ruby had indicated and, with little more than a deep breath and a bit of concentration, killed him, letting his vessel fall to the floor. The force holding Sam and Ruby to the wall disappeared with the death, and she stepped forward, facing down the other demon, who looked like he was trying to decide whether he was facing his worst nightmare or most delicious fantasy.

                “Well?” Ruby demanded. “Are you going to stand there, or bow to your king?”

                The demon fell to his knees without hesitation, lowering his head submissively. It made Sam squirm awkwardly, unsure how to respond to the gesture, but he would be lying if he said it didn’t give him a bit of a power thrill.

                That was just the start of it, though. When it was announced that the Boy King had finally arrived, there was an uproar, mostly positive, granted, but some refused to accept Sam as king until he proved himself. Despite Ruby’s advice, he didn’t want to kill too many demons. Sam wasn’t ruthless, and he understood their hesitation. He’d be pretty sceptical too if a strange man showed up claiming to be Jesus Christ. Instead, he put on a mask of impassiveness and severity, the one he usually reserved for hunting, and demanded they bring him Alastair, or else lead Sam to him. It was a deliberate test of loyalty, and the demons behaved accordingly: They led Sam to where Alistair worked the Rack, just like he expected them too. After all, he hadn’t gained their trust yet.

                Alistair recognised Sam almost immediately as Dean’s brother and immediately tried to throw him off his game. “Ah, yes, Dean spoke of you often. Most of the time your name was the only word he could say. On the days he was able to speak, that is.” When that didn’t work, he tried something else. “Dean was one of my favourite students, you know. Such a kind and pure soul when he first got here. It gave me great pleasure to be the one to break him.”

                That hurt Sam, and he struggled to remain apathetic as he tried to reason with the torturer. When reasoning didn’t work, he began threatening him. Nothing major, just a couple days on the Rack at the hands of his students. Alastair laughed in his face, and Sam suddenly knew how well he had adapted to his new position as the King of Hell by the way his anger flared. It wasn’t so much “damn this demon’s being stubborn” anger as it was “how _dare_ this demon refuse me and laugh in my face” anger. Honestly, it scared him a little, but he shoved that down to deal with later.

                Instead, he gave Alastair the most frighteningly sarcastic smile and mentally forced him against the web of chains that formerly held a bleeding human soul. The breath was audibly knocked out of his lungs, but his smile stayed in place.

                “You gonna tear into me, boy?” he sneered as Sam picked up one of the blades on Alastair’s table, twirling it contemplatively.

                “That depends,” Sam responded, his voice calm and measured. “Are you going to take me to Dean?”

                “I would,” the demon laughed, a high, thin rasp, “But he’s not here.”

                “Well, I’d spare you,” Sam began, drawing a line down Alastair’s face with the blade, leaving a thin red line in its wake, “but I don’t believe you.”

                Sam had never tortured anyone in his life, not really. There was Holy water and iron and salt, but nothing like this, nothing that made bodies bleed and break under his fingers. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it, either, but he stopped before he could figure it out.

                Alastair was still laughing, but it was pained now, his breathing laboured. “I’m telling you, your brother ain’t here.”

                “Prove it.”

                “There’s nothing to prove! The angels took him ages ago, just swooped in and plucked him right out of Hell. Lost a couple of demons trying to fight back.”

                Sam didn’t _want_ to believe it, any of it. To start with, this was the demon that tortured his brother. Why should he believe a thing out of his mouth? Second, Sam’s faith was shaken, and he found it difficult to believe that angels actually existed. And if they did, why would they let Dean go to Hell just to drag him back out again?

                “Stay,” he ordered needlessly, knowing he could keep Alastair there as long as he wanted while he went to find Ruby and demand answers.

                She didn’t look too happy to see him, probably having heard about exactly how he’d disregarded her advice, but before she could chew him out, he had her shoved against the nearest surface, which happened to be the marble floor. With the way his fingers were digging into her throat, she would have been dead if she were anything but a demon.

                “Did angels take Dean?” he demanded. “Is he gone?”

                Ruby sputtered out a negative response, but he pulled back to slam her back down until he heard a sickeningly satisfying _crack_ and blood flowed freely from her skull. “Tell me the truth!”

                This was an anger he had never felt before, one he couldn’t control. Nor did he much care to, if he was honest. Ruby wanted him to be ruthless; he could be ruthless.

                “Yes, okay?” she nearly screamed. “Yes, they took him. He’s been gone for ages. But I didn’t know, I swear!”

                “You expect me to believe you now? After everything – all the training and all the killing – just to find out I’m too late . . . No. No, I’m going to get him back still.”

                Despite her current position, Ruby scoffed, and Sam bristled in fury. “What are you going to do? Storm Heaven? You’ve never fought angels before. They’re unlike anything you’ve ever taken on, nearly invincible. Powers or not, you’re still mortal. You can’t – “

                Sam slammed her into the floor one last time just to shut her up. “First,” he growled lowly, dangerously, “I’m going to kill you. Then I’ll kill Alastair. And _then_ I’ll storm Heaven, or die trying.”

                Ruby’s skin glowed under his touch, hot and fiery, her mouth wide open on a silent plea until she finally crackled out of existence. Sam had never felt so justified in taking a life, and if he was honest, it felt good.

 

 

 

Killing Alastair wasn’t all Sam needed to do in order to gain the other demons’ trust, but it was a very good start. And he had some very powerful loyalists on his side. In the absence of a king, four demons in particular had been more-or-less in charge, and Sam met with two of them almost immediately after Alastair’s death – Gaad and Adramalech.

                Adramalech was very pleasant. For a demon. He wasn’t hostile, didn’t have any ulterior motives as far as Sam could tell. His only purpose seemed to be helping the king look the part, which he did wonderfully, and for all Sam’s doubts that appearance mattered, the way his subjects’ entire demeanour changed when he entered a room was most likely due to the aesthetics as much as his reputation.

                His subjects. It was only a little strange to think of the demons that way, definitely not as strange as it should be. Maybe he really was born for the part.

                Gaad was the teacher. He taught Sam what Ruby didn’t, which was too much, he realised, and Sam was angry more often than not through his lessons. But besides the gaps in his knowledge of Hell, Gaad also filled him in about Heaven and angels. The first lesson: Angels are not the merciful cherubs that most religions believe them to be.

                “You’ve read the Bible, so you have an idea of angels already. They’re warriors, but not the gentle ones Christians portray them to be. They’re ruthless and sly. If they can’t manipulate you into doing what they want, they’ll force you. If you’re going to take on Heaven, you have to remember that. They will use your brother against you.”

                “I’ll get him back,” Sam assured. “We’ve been in situations like this before.”

                “Not like this, you haven’t,” Gaad warned, shaking his head. “Your Majesty – “

                “Sam,” he corrected, not for the first time nor for the last.

                Gaad looked extremely uncomfortable. “Sam. If you’re going to get your brother back, there will be a war, not a simple hostage negotiation. And if anyone knows how to wage a war, it’s the angels.”

                “You’re forgetting that we have angels on our side too. Not as many, sure, but we have them.”

                “What, you think you can get Rahab and Saleos to fight?” the demon suggested incredulously.

                “I was thinking more along the lines of Beelzebub, but yes.”

                Gaad sat back in his chair, looking like he was trying very hard not to laugh. “All due respect Your—Sam. But that’s insane.”

                Sam shrugged. “They’ve been down here for millennia. Don’t you think they’re craving a bit of revenge right now?”

                “That’s the point! You let them out and you won’t be able to control them. You have to remember, these are _angels_. Not petty demons.”

                “About that. If we’re going to do this, I should probably learn how to kill an angel.”

                “Well, you know about Angel Blades – “

                “You know that’s not what I mean.” The stare that Sam gave the demon was stone-cold serious, and Gaad was suddenly reminded of the tremendous power his king possessed. Still, he didn’t think it was possible to kill angels the way the boy killed demons. But Sam was determined, so Gaad managed to pull a few strings and deliver him one of the lower-level angels they had in captivity. For practise.

                In theory, killing an angel was the same as killing a demon. Except in practise, it wasn’t, not at all. Demons were easy to hold onto, if you knew how. They were more or less just clouds of smoke, and it was easy to contain smoke within a barrier or sorts, to either force it out of its host or compact it until it fizzles and dies. But angels were light. How was one supposed to contain light?

                This wasn’t like training with Ruby. This was a problem he had to solve on his own, and one that apparently no one else had ever attempted before. The logical solution would be to smother light with darkness, but the logic didn’t transfer to angels and demons.

                In retrospect, Sam was embarrassed about how long it took him to get it. Of course he couldn’t control light, that was impossible, but an angel wasn’t _just_ light. He was too fixated on the analogy and missed the point. An angel was made of Grace, and Grace was a very tangible thing indeed. But from what he had learned, it was on an entirely different plane of existence from the vessel. That’s how Angel Blades worked: They used the vessel as a bridge in order to transcend the planes and kill the angel. Humans themselves couldn’t do that, but if anyone could, it was the King of Hell.

                Of course, everything was easier said than done, but all it took was a little practise. Okay, a lot of practise, but when he finally succeeded, if only slightly, making the captured angel flinch in pain, he had never felt more proud of himself. Because that meant he was on the right track, and soon he’d have killed his first angel.

                It was about this point that Sam began questioning what he had done with his life. He remembered what Dean said about their father’s orders, how if Sam couldn’t be saved he’d have to be killed. As he stood above an angel of the Lord, one of the creatures that Sam worshipped in another life, felling proud of himself for hurting it, Sam wondered if this is what his father meant, or if it was much worse.

                The day he finally killed the angel was the day Sam decided it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that his soul was damned if there was even the smallest chance he could save Dean.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It has been said, 'the truth will make men free.' The truth alone has never made anyone free. It is only doubt which will bring mental emancipation.”  
> \-- Anton LaVey

Sam’s first plan was negotiation, always. Despite his reputation, he was not evil and did not kill needlessly. If the angels could not be reasoned with, only then would he resort to force and, consequently, war.

                He agreed to meet in Heaven, which he had been assured was a terrible mistake. Sam wasn’t stupid; he knew it would be wiser to meet on neutral ground, but he wanted to appear agreeable and, hopefully, less of a threat. In any case, he was more than powerful enough to handle a small-scale ambush, if that was what the angels were planning. So without another word from his advisors on the matter, he was transported to Heaven.

Heaven was not at all what Sam expected it to be (puffy white clouds, blue skies, and halos). He was in the passenger seat of the Impala as it rumbled down a back road that Sam vaguely recognised, Pink Floyd playing softly from the speakers, and for a while, Sam truly believed everything had been a dream. Dean’s Deal, training with Ruby, becoming the King of Hell – all just a vivid nightmare.

                The Impala slowed and pulled over, stopping on the side of the road. They were in the middle of nowhere, nothing but trees to one side and a field on the other, and Sam turned to ask his brother what was going on, but his breath caught in his throat. Dean was in the driver’s seat, but it wasn’t the Dean he knew now. He couldn’t have been older than eighteen, and that was pushing it. Sam gaped openly as Dean smiled at him and climbed out of the car.

                “C’mon, Sammy, we’re here. You’ll love this, promise.”

                Something seized painfully in Sam’s chest. He remembered this. Of course he did, it was one of his fondest memories. Dean would tell him to open the trunk –

                “Well? Don’t just stand there. Go check the trunk.”

                -- And Sam knew exactly what he would find. He popped the trunk anyway, just to be sure, and felt as if the air had been driven from his lungs when he saw the box of fireworks.

                Sam backed away slowly, as if the Impala were possessed. This was wrong. What kind of trick were the angels pulling?

                “This is your Heaven, Samuel.”

                He whipped around so quickly his head spun, Angel Blade at the ready, all thoughts of peaceful negotiation gone for the time being. A few metres away stood a man – an angel, rather. Despite his appearance, Sam could see the shimmering shadow of his wings. Immediately, Sam loathed him.

                “Who are you?” he demanded. “What are you talking about?”

                “I’m Zachariah.” The angel’s smile looked out of place on his face, like oil on water. “Remember, we agreed to meet here? Your people talked to my people?”

                “I agreed to meet in Heaven.”

                “This is _your_ Heaven. It’s different for everyone, and this one’s yours, where you would spend a happy eternity with your brother,” the angel explained, stepping forward. “Sadly,” he sighed sarcastically, “Your soul belongs in Hell now.”

                Sam tried not to let that get to him, reminding himself that it didn’t matter where he spent eternity, so long as he was with Dean.

                “So does Dean’s,” he argued. “He made a Deal. He belongs with me.”

                “We need him.”

                “That is a violation of contract.” Adramalech had taught him about this, actually. Ages ago, Heaven and Hell made a deal that any soul sold to a demon, no matter its allotted place in Heaven, belonged in Hell and must stay there, at the very least until it becomes a demon and is free to roam Earth. Three of the four archangels had signed it, as had three of the four high presidents of Hell.

                “You didn’t sign the contract,” Zachariah countered. “With your recent rise to power, the contract’s been rendered null and void.”

                “The king was never a factor. It was signed by the highest angels and the highest demons, all of which are still alive and in power.”

                “Well, whatever,” the angel shrugged, making Sam’s fury flare. “We needed your brother, so we took him. The question is, what are you going to do about it?”

                Sam smiled pleasantly, obviously falsely, the gesture barely concealing his rage. “Ask nicely. You are in violation of a deal that has kept the peace between Heaven and Hell for centuries. Given that, I am well within my rights to demand you return Dean to me, and to have you comply.”

                Zachariah positively cracked up, doubling over with laughter, and Sam saw red. Adjusting his grip on the Angel Blade, Sam surged forward – not with an intent to kill, only threaten – but he barely took a single step before he heard the soft flutter of wings on three sides and let himself be restrained. One angel on each arm, one behind him. They forced the blade from his hand as Zachariah retrieved it and stepped closer until they were face to face.

                “You’re in the major league now, boy,” the angel growled, pressing the tip of the blade to the hollow of Sam’s throat. “We won’t give you what you want just because you flash your puppy dog eyes. It’s an angel-eat-devil world; if you want something, you have to _take it_.”

                “Believe me, I plan to,” Sam smiled wickedly. Never mind that he was restrained; he still had the upper hand. He closed his eyes and the angels holding his arms fell dead with a burst of light. He took Zachariah’s surprise to his advantage and reclaimed his weapon, knocking both remaining angels down with one fluid movement.

                He heard fireworks erupting from the memory playing behind him, but that didn’t mask the sound of a hundred angels appearing, surrounding him. Sam wasn’t stupid, he knew he couldn’t take on more than a handful at a time, so he made a snap decision and forced the angel that had grabbed him from behind to his feet, securing him in a chokehold and pressing the Angel Blade into his spine, although they all knew it was unnecessary.

                “One move, and I’ll kill him,” he threatened. “That’s the only warning you get.” It was a long shot, he knew, but evidently he had grabbed the right angel because the others stood stock still, throwing panicked glances towards Zachariah as he climbed to his feet.

                “You could have just given him back, you know,” Sam said softly. “All you had to do was give Dean back. Now you’ve got a war on your hands, and in the end, Dean will still be in Hell with me.”

                If Zachariah responded, Sam didn’t hear it. He growled to the angel in his hold that he was to transport them both back to Hell. The poor angel didn’t wait to hear the consequences of disobeying. With a gentle flutter and a wave of nausea, Sam was back in the throne room. In an instant, demons were at his side, making sure their king was unharmed and restraining the angel. Sam didn’t think to intervene until he heard a hiss of pain and saw that they had an Angel blade pressed hard to the seraph’s throat.

                “Don’t hurt him!” he commanded, and demons jumped back as if burned, although they wore identical expressions of confusion. “He cooperated. He helped me escape, and besides that, he’s important.”

                “Your Highness?”

                Sam explained briefly what had happened, how the angels had broken their side of the bargain and essentially declared war on Hell.

                “Except this little angel,” he grinned, stalking over to where said seraph still stood stock still. “He cooperated because he knew it was the only way he’d get out alive. I would call you a coward, except you’re clearly important to whatever Heaven is planning.” When Sam was only met with silence and a glare, he softened a bit. He was aware of the reputation he had gained, but who knew how Heaven had perverted it. The poor angel must be scared to death, although his face was nearly expressionless and provided no answers.

                “What’s your name, angel?”

                “Castiel,” he growled. Although as deep and rough his voice was, Sam guessed all he could really do was growl.

                “Any relation to the angel of Saturday?” The joke fell flat on his audience. Apparently this seraph didn’t have a sense of humour. “Why do the angels care about you, Castiel? No offence, but you’re just another grunt, aren’t you? Only one set of wings, so you’re low class.” More silence. “Well, it doesn’t matter if you talk or not. Regardless, you are my captive.”

                “There is nothing preventing me from leaving.”

                Sam sighed sadly. He hated when he was met with defiance, but it made him more disappointed than angry. “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that. We certainly have ways of restraining you, some more painful than others, but I would rather you were here on your own accord. Although, keep in mind, if I catch you trying to leave, I won’t hesitate to bind you here.”

                “Then I will be sure you don’t catch me.”

                “If you successfully escape, you are no longer of any use to me. I’ll kill you on sight, without a second thought.”

                That shut the rebellious angel up pretty well. When it seemed Castiel had nothing left to say, one of the demons approached him, asking if he was to take their “guest” to the Rack now.

                “God, no!” Sam had nearly shouted, indignant, as Castiel glared at him for his blasphemy. “What did I just say? No, take him to a guest room, one close to mine.”

                The demons’ shock was palpable, their horror evident on their faces as they all spoke at once. “But – but Your Majesty!” “Even if he _is_ a low-class angel, he’s still dangerous!” “We can’t possibly let him stay so close to you!”

                “Then disarm him,” Sam answered simply, dismissing himself from the room. “All entrances to my chambers are warded anyway. Take away his blade and keep him in the spare room, but as of now, he is my guest. Treat him as such. Oh,” he added as an afterthought, pausing at the doorway. “And Castiel. I expect you to behave as a guest should as well. Don’t kill anyone unless they try to kill you first.”

                He left that as a blanket warning for all of them before excusing himself to his room. Angel flight had taken a lot out of him, surprisingly, and he needed to be rested if he was going to lead a war.

 

 

Sam wasn’t up an hour before Gaad found him, confronting him in the corridor between Sam’s room and the kitchens.

                “Your Highness,” he grit between his teeth.

                “ _Why_ are demons so good at following all my orders,” Sam groaned, “ _Except_ for that one. It’s Sam, okay?”

                “Whatever you’re called, I think you’re crazy! Why is an unbound angel roaming the place, and why are you calling it your _guest_?”

                “Okay, first of all, he’s not roaming anywhere because he’s confined to his room for the time being. Second of all, I’m calling him my guest because he _is_ my guest. When all the other angels were trying to kill me, he helped me escape. Even under the circumstances, I’m grateful for that. _And_ he’s important in whatever the angels are planning. There will be fighting no matter what I do now, but with Castiel as a bargaining chip, maybe it won’t evolve into a full war.”

                Gaad sighed but didn’t argue. That was the most Sam could hope for.

                He rallied his army, got the demons ready for battle. He taught some of the most powerful how to exorcise angels, but not how to kill them. On the other hand, he had the scholars such as Gaad figure out how to lock angels in their vessels, which could very well come in handy. The only demons that didn’t have a job to do were the torturers on the Rack, and they would be busy soon enough with prisoners of war.

                Meanwhile Sam travelled to Earth, recruiting demons when he saw them, incapacitating angels when he ran into them, never killing unless he had no other choice. But word got around quickly, so eventually there was no need for him to go topside.

                He made up for it by spending a lot of time with Castiel, although he didn’t talk much. Most of their time consisted of Sam asking questions and Castiel perched on the edge of the bed he had been given, alternating between scowls and glares until finally Sam had had enough of the silence and left. But every day he stayed longer, talked more. He wanted to know what Castiel’s part in the grand scheme of things was, of course he did, but mostly he wanted to get to know this angel. Knowing the what was useless without knowing the how or the why. Or the whom. For all Sam knew, Castiel was just one of your run-of-the-mill carbon-copy worker bees, but that just didn’t feel right to him. Sam truly believed there was more to Castiel than met the eye.

                One day, he announced himself and walked into Castiel’s room as he had every other day, taking a seat facing the angel, who went out of his way to give him the cold shoulder.

                “Hey, Cas,” he greeted. “Can I call you Cas?”

                For the first time that Sam could remember, the angel’s lips twitched in a smile. Granted, it was humourless and sarcastic, but a smile nonetheless. “You are definitely Dean Winchester’s brother. He asked me the very same thing when we first met.”

                Sam blinked stupidly at Castiel for a moment before his statement registered. Castiel knew Dean. Not just knew him, but had met him, had spoken to him. Sam fought to keep himself composed in the face of this new information. This was good. Cas was opening up. He could use this.

                “So?” he asked. “Did you let him call you Cas?”

                The angel frowned as if he hadn’t expected Sam’s reaction, and he couldn’t help but be pleased with himself.

                “It didn’t much matter,” Castiel admitted. “Your brother has a tendency to do as he wishes.”

                “Yeah, he does, doesn’t he?” Sam laughed softly. “But I try to be considerate. What do you want me to call you?”

                “I don’t suppose it matters. No matter what you call me, I’m stuck here.”

                “Cas,” Sam began softly, leaning forward and actually taking pride when Cas didn’t lean back in response. “I don’t want you to feel like this is a hostage situation – “

                “This _is_ a hostage situation.”

                “Maybe, but that’s not the point. I mean, that _is_ the point, but . . . Look, despite what you may have heard of me, I’m not a terrible person, and I don’t want to hurt you. As long as you’re here, you might as well be comfortable.”

                “Dressing the pig for the slaughter.”

                “I’m fairly sure it’s ‘lamb for the slaughter.’ Look, regardless, I’m not going to kill you.”

                “It’s not you I’m concerned about,” Castiel muttered.

                Sam was more than intrigued; he was concerned. But Castiel immediately clammed up, and no amount of prodding got him speaking again. Dejected, Sam finally admitted defeat. Just as he was about to leave, he heard the angel say, “You can call me Cas. I care not.”

 

 

The next time Sam spoke to Cas, he didn’t bring up Dean or hostages or death or anything like that. He just sat down and asked what Cas had heard of him. If he knew what preconceived notions the angel had about him, he could work on dismantling them and gaining Castiel’s trust.

                “Excuse me?”

                “Yesterday, I said something about what you might have heard about me. So I’m curious: What does Heaven think?”

                The look Cas gave him wasn’t irritated or cold. It was sad. Not piteous, but actually _sad_ , and Sam was nothing if not taken aback.

                “Do you really want to know, or are you just asking to make conversation?”

                “That bad, huh?”

                “Worse.”

                “Tell me anyway.”

                Cas hesitated only a moment before complying.

                They said he was the antichrist, destined to damn the world. He was the scum of the Earth, the Boy with the Demon Blood, beyond salvation, a monster. A pawn to be used as Heaven saw fit. A vessel, all agency stripped until he wasn’t even person anymore, truly.

                And that was before he became the King of Hell.

                Cas told him that he had already redeemed himself in some ways by taking the throne: He had proved himself stronger than Heaven thought possible, secured his independence and his personhood, but that didn’t make Heaven hate him any less. On the contrary, they didn’t even think he was useful anymore. Tolerable, maybe, but otherwise unextraordinary and to be avoided at all costs.

                Scum.

                Tainted.

                Sinful.

                Damned.

                Not that Sam expected much more, but honestly, even after everything, he had held out hope that Heaven was all about redemption and salvation. Hope that was now shattered by the words of an angel.

                When Castiel stopped talking, Sam barely noticed, caught up in his own mind set of self-depreciation. Cas called his name once, and Sam immediately sat up and put up a strong front. He was the king – powerful and unbreakable, even if he wasn’t.

                “Is that all?” he asked as if his heart wasn’t shattered.

                “Why did you do it?” Castiel asked gently rather than responding. “Why did you choose to fall?”

                That was an easy one, although it took Sam a moment to remember why himself. He decided that he couldn’t live without his brother. Rather, he couldn’t let himself live knowing Dean was spending an eternity in Hell being ripped to shreds. If he did nothing else in his life, he needed to see that Dean was safe, and the only way to do that had been to infiltrate Hell himself. It was just his luck that he was Azazel’s favourite, and with the position of Boy King readily open, he saw the perfect opportunity and took it.

                “My brother is the only one I have left,” Sam answered softly, but confidently. “No matter what happened to me, I had to know he was safe.”

                For just a moment, Cas left himself open and Sam saw what he was really feeling. But just as quickly, it was gone, and Sam had to convince himself that he didn’t imagine it.

                Cas had looked humbled.

 

 

After that, Cas treated Sam kindly. Well, relatively. They weren’t suddenly best buddies after one emotional conversation, but Cas did refrain from giving him the cold shoulder, and he actually began to participate in conversations. Sam counted it as an accidental win.

                Meanwhile, the war had started, in Salt Lake City of all places. It was silent – the surrounding civilians were none the wiser – but horribly violent. Almost unbelievably, Hell emerged victorious and oddly merciful, though not by choice. They were in seriously short supply of Angel Blades, for obvious reasons, so the demons had been forced to resort to evasiveness and trickery, making the angels kill each other until Sam appeared on the scene and sent them all back to Heaven.

                He would have gotten there sooner, but some of the high-ups were adamant that he stay behind lest he be injured in war. Sam was pissed, even more so when he counted an almost forty percent casualty rate for their side (compared to less than ten percent for Heaven). He could have fought. He _should be_ fighting, because what kind of cowardly king stands on the side lines while his subjects die for his cause? Sam was absolutely _furious_ , and the same demons who kept him from fighting were the ones who paid for it – not with their lives, but with their dignity. No one tried to hold him back after that.

                After that debacle, Cas didn’t talk to him much, although not out of hatred but what looked very much like fear or sadness or some bastardisation of the two. When Sam asked what was wrong, Cas just said, “You are fighting Heaven.”

                Sam figured he was upset that his brethren were being killed, albeit not very efficiently, but it didn’t look like Cas was grieving. And considering how intimate Sam was with the idea of grief, he should know. When he asked again, he was given the same answer.

                “You are fighting Heaven.”

                “Yeah, I am, but why does that upset you? I mean, I understand that it does, but I want to know specifically.”

                Castiel looked pensive before responding, as if double-checking himself. “It’s not the fighting. That happens often, and I’ve grown used to it.”

                “Then what is it?”

                “It’s . . . I’m not sure how I feel about it.”

                “I thought you just said you were used to it.”

                “I’m used to the fighting,” he snapped, “and the injuries and deaths. I’m used to knowing what’s wrong and what’s right.”

                That threw Sam for a loop – as Castiel was apparently prone to do.

                “When I first met you – “ he continued. Sam had to stop this. Right now. This was dangerous, to say the very least.

                “Stop right there,” Sam demanded, not unkindly. “Don’t you dare confess anything. This ain’t a chick flick,” he laughed nervously, stealing one of his brother’s lines.

                Cas looked confused but shut up accordingly. Sam immediately felt bad for shutting him down when he was about to willingly divulge information about himself, but Sam couldn’t let himself hear it. He wasn’t supposed to care about Castiel’s personal dilemmas.

                “Why are you still here, Cas?” he asked suddenly. “You could literally leave at any time.”

                “You said you would kill me if I left.”

                “I wouldn’t,” Sam confessed. “I don’t think I could.” That was a lot more emotional than Sam needed or wanted to be, but it was almost worth it for Cas’s expression of surprise and perhaps a bit of awe.

                It was true, though, as unfortunate as it may have been. He had a soft spot for Cas. He was starting to care too much, but he couldn’t stop himself. He was naturally empathetic, and truthfully, this was all his fault. This lost little angel in front of him was his doing. If he hadn’t used him as a shield, hadn’t demanded transportation in exchange for survival, Castiel would be sitting strong up in Heaven, playing his part in the angels’ plan.

                “I won’t leave,” Cas said, shattering Sam’s train of thought. “I don’t think I can right now, all things considered.”

                “You don’t have to stay in your room all day,” Sam allowed without really thinking. Anything to diverge from heavy conversation. “As long as you stay on the grounds, because I can’t guarantee your protection outside. Not that you’d need to leave. This place has a training room and kitchens and a _huge_ library, so.”

                Sam almost missed Cas’s little smirk, and he was _so_ glad he didn’t. “Thank you, Sam. I will undoubtedly be spending most of my time in that library. I’m curious what books Hell finds useful.”

                Sam positively gleamed with pride. He could go on for hours about the library. For one thing, it was huge, the largest room Sam had ever been in by far, although admittedly he wasn’t done exploring yet. And every possible nook and cranny was filled with books. As it turned out, a majority of great writers made Deals and ended up in Hell. Sometimes they wrote stories and poems in return for time off the Rack. Musicians and artists were in a similar boat. That meant Hell had an enormous section dedicated to works that had been written in Hell, never to be seen by human eyes until the studious Boy King came along.

                Sam waxed poetic about the library, noticing that Cas was fixated on every word. Sam was happy to have found something they had in common, even something as simple as a love for knowledge.

                Because that would make it easier to gain Castiel’s trust, of course.

                When word got out that the angel had been given free range, more or less, Gaad was not happy. He never said as much, probably remembering what had happened the last time someone crossed the king, but it was evident by the less-than-friendly way he treated Sam that he did not approve of the decision. Not that it made a difference. Cas had already proven himself a gentleman, treating demons politely, if not warmly. Sam had heard the whispered accusations that it was just an act, that Castiel was only behaving himself to make the king trust him, but Sam couldn’t believe that. For all that angels were notorious liars, this one was different. As far as Sam could tell (which was pretty far – psychic powers and all) Cas had only ever told the truth. Maybe not the whole truth, but the truth nonetheless.

                It was much easier to talk to him now that they had topics of discussion beyond themselves. Cas seemed particularly interested in the historical works, specifically those concerning Heaven and Hell, surprisingly.

                “I like that they are written from a different perspective,” Cas answered when Sam inquired. That right there should have been a warning bell, but as it was, Sam didn’t pick up on it.

                “Isn’t the story the same, though? You know, ‘In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.’”

                “In essence, yes, but Heaven, Hell, and Earth all tell the story in vastly different ways.” He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts, before continuing softly. “I had always been taught that Heaven was inherently good and Hell was inherently evil without exception, and I’m now beginning to realise that it is never that clear-cut.”

                “I thought that too,” Sam admitted. “I thought angels were all pure and good and demons were anything but. Then I came down here and saw that . . . that demons are just as diverse as the humans they used to be. Granted, they tend to lean more towards evil than most humans, but still.”

                Cas looked up at him and held his gaze for an uncomfortably long time. Sam felt like he was under a microscope and squirmed under the scrutiny.

                “You interrupted me a few days ago,” Cas said seriously. “May I finish now?”

Sam wanted to pretend he had no idea what the angel was talking about, but he had a feeling Cas would know he was lying. It had been on his mind constantly, wondering what Cas had been about to say to him, if it was good or bad. He probably couldn’t handle either, but he needed to know. It was driving him crazy.

“Go ahead,” he replied as casually as he could manage.

Cas hesitated a moment, taking one of Sam’s hands in both his own for comfort – whether his comfort or Sam’s wasn’t clear.

“Everything I had heard about you in Heaven I believed,” Castiel began, and Sam’s heart plummeted, but Cas didn’t let him pull away. “So when I first saw you,” he continued with a hint of urgency, “I was very confused because you have the purest soul I have ever seen. Yes, it’s marred with pain and loss, but it’s so bright and beautiful. When I first saw you, I had no idea what to think. I was already beginning to doubt that you could possibly be the same Boy King of Hell I had heard so much about.”

                Sam wanted to argue, to claim that he wasn’t pure or beautiful or any of that, but the way Cas was looking at him – almost as if in awe – swept all arguments from his mind.

                “But – “ he tried anyway.

                “I was bitter when I first arrived here, I will admit that. At the time I still believed that my purpose was to serve Heaven, and that you had taken that from me. But now . . . I’m beginning to realise how corrupt Heaven really is.”

                “Cas, stop,” Sam damn near pleaded. “You don’t have to tell me this.”

                “But I want to. I believe you deserve to know.”

                “I don’t deserve – “

                “Yes, you do, everything and more. You can take my word for it,” Cas smiled ruefully. “Even if I am just a bargaining chip.”

                If it was possible for Sam to feel any worse, than he did in that moment. He struggled to breathe, not because of what Castiel was implying, but because it was true. At least, it used to be. Sam had since gone soft for the angel, but that didn’t change the fact that he had said that Castiel was only useful to him as a hostage to be dangled over the other angels’ heads and, eventually, traded for Dean.

                But he couldn’t do that now. He just couldn’t. Somewhere along the line he forgot that Castiel was only supposed to be used for information. He let himself sympathise with the angel, and a part of him cursed himself for it even as the majority screamed at him to find a solution.

                “No, you’re not,” he assured firmly. “You’re safe here, I promise.”

                “No, you’ve come this far for your brother, and I would be the last person to stand in the way of that kind of love.”

                Sam swallowed thickly. “There are other ways.”

                “Such as?”

                “We’ll fight this war. We’ll fight it and win. Just – promise me you won’t leave.”

                Castiel looked like he wanted to argue, like he pitied Sam and his empathy, or as if he wanted so badly to believe what Sam was saying but just couldn’t bring himself to. Regardless, Cas agreed to forgo any and all suicide missions, although Sam still kept him well within his sight for a while.

                He was in a tight spot: Should he reassure Cas that he’s more than a hostage or use this opportunity to distance himself from the angel? He shouldn’t have gotten close to Cas in the first place, but there was no helping that now.

                Gaad, of course, suggested that he trade Castiel in already. Well, more demanded than suggested, but the deadly glare that Sam aimed his way made the demon much more agreeable, pushing aside his personal feelings on the matter in order to argue logically: The longer Castiel was kept, the less patient the angels would be. “At what point do they give up and decide to storm Hell? We can’t hold our own in an attack like that.”

                Sam tried to see from Gaad’s point of view, he really did, but he kept remembering the resignation that Cas wore so blatantly, and his heart broke a little more each time. He knew that if he really wanted to, he could do it – could hand Cas over to the angels – despite how much it would hurt. But then he was reminded of Madison, and he swore he would never do anything like that again. It was too late; he was too emotionally invested in Castiel to let him go without a fight.

                Adramalech was a bit more sympathetic. Although he wasn’t exactly taken with the idea of an angel hanging around, he at least saw it from Sam’s perspective. “I’ll support whatever you decide,” he had assured. “Not that I have much choice. Anyway, an official guest of the King means one more person I have to dress. Take that as you will.”

                Once Sam had come to terms with the fact that he cared for the angel, the only problem was Castiel, who refused to even acknowledge the possibility.

                “I don’t want to take sides on this,” Adramalech had insisted. “I already said you have my support, but I don’t want your decision to lie on anything I say.”

                “That’s the thing,” Sam pressed desperately. “I’ve already decided what I’m going to do. I’m worried Cas isn’t going to listen.”

                “You know, Your Majesty,” the demon began slowly, carefully choosing every word, “there is a way to keep him in place, if you so wish. And it’s completely painless. All the angel has to do is eat something that originated in Hell. Something as simple as – “

                “Pomegranate seeds?” Sam snapped. “I’ve heard that myth, and I’ve never liked it, even when I was younger. If Cas wants to leave, I won’t stop him.”

                “Even though it will break you?”

                “It won’t,” Sam assured firmly, standing to leave. “I don’t break easily. Not even my brother’s death could do that.” Though he was beginning to question what it really meant to be broken. He knew he wasn’t the same person he used to be – that man died along with his brother.

 

 

It was a long time before Sam spoke to Castiel. After the first battle in Utah, the dispute had evolved into something resembling a war. Sam fought whenever he could, but he couldn’t be in more than one place at a time, and the losses were beginning to catch up with them. Some demons pleaded for Sam to teach them how to kill angels, but not only did Sam not think it was possible, he selfishly didn’t want to. He worked long and hard to discover the secret and felt like only those who toiled similarly deserved the knowledge. Sam did recognise the errors in his judgement, but he honestly believed it was only something that he, as a human, could do. Demons just weren’t powerful enough. Or rather, they weren’t the right kind of powerful.

                When he finally had a chance to see Castiel again, Sam was bone tired and wanted nothing more than to collapse and sleep for a millennia. Instead, he found the angel in his quarters, finishing off the last of a dozen books, if the generous pile was anything to go by. They were all concerning demonic lore, and Sam didn’t know whether to be happy that Cas was adjusting well to life in Hell, or to be upset for the same reason.

                He took a seat beside the angel and waited patiently for him to finish reading. If he dozed off slouched in his chair, Cas either didn’t notice or took sympathy. When the book finally shut with a punch of air, Sam startled awake and attempted to appear attentive.

                “Hello, Sam,” Castiel greeted. “I’m glad to see you are unharmed.”

                “Nice to see you too,” Sam smiled tensely in response, deciding not to mention that he had been hurt, although not severely, and he was mostly healed now.

                “I’m surprised to see you. I expected you would be resting.”

                “I wanted to see you first. It’s been a while.”

                The expression that Cas adopted was very open -- something like surprise or hope. Sam chose not to look into it too much. “Yes, it has. I’ve missed your company.”

                “Well, you have it now.”

                “That I do. But I will also have the opportunity later, and you need rest.”

                Sam didn’t argue, because when he tried, he was cut off by a huge yawn. He nodded silently and made his way back to the door, thinking he’d just take a bit of a nap before catching up with Cas.

                Then angel followed him out, a habit that he had adopted only recently, but stopped at the doorway as Sam turned to say goodbye. He had barely opened his mouth when Cas cut him off.

                “Sam, just go to bed.” He looked conflicted for a moment, as if struggling to make a spur-of-the-moment decision before standing up a bit on his toes and kissing Sam gently, barely pressing their lips together. When Sam didn’t respond immediately – honestly too surprised to do anything but stand there and gape – Cas backed up a few steps, tail between his legs. “Was that not acceptable?”

                Sam honestly did not have an answer. His mind was screaming _wrongwrongwrong this is so wrong_ while his heart was turning cartwheels in his chest. He couldn’t even begin to put words to what he was feeling, couldn’t even try before Castiel was apologising and shutting the door between them.

                Somehow, he managed to sleep while his brain was working a mile a minute, but he was no calmer upon waking up than he was when he fell asleep. Probably even less so simply because he was well rested enough to realise what exactly he’d gotten himself into.

 

 

“Stockholm Syndrome.”

                Cas looked up from the book he had been trying to distract himself with. “Sam. I apologise for yesterday. I didn’t realise – “

                “Stop,” Sam interrupted, entirely sombre. “Stockholm Syndrome. You’ve heard of it?”

                Castiel squinted in confusion but nodded. “Yes, but – “

                “It’s like when someone who’s been kidnapped falls in love with the person who kidnapped them, right?”

                “Well, essentially – “

                “ _That’s_ why this is wrong, Cas. You don’t _really_ feel that way about me. Look, maybe I was wrong to keep you here so long. I should have let you go a lot earlier, and now it’s too late. But maybe if we just distance ourselves from each other. Like, I can get you a room on the other side of the manor. Or hell, I’ll take the other room, as long as we’re – “

                “ _Sam_ ,” Cas began sternly, standing up and managing to look down on the taller man. For the first time in a lifetime, Sam felt small. “If you do not reciprocate my feelings for you, that is fine, but do _not_ try to explain them away as if they are illegitimate.”

                “But – “

                “No. It is insulting to me on more than one level. Angels do not experience such things as Stockholm Syndrome because we can see the very essence of a person, and you, Sam Winchester, are loving and good, a warrior from necessity but a pacifist at heart. _That_ is the person I have fallen in love with, not the demon king who kidnapped me.”

                Sam had to sit down, his heart palpitating in his chest and his head light. It wasn’t just that Castiel had feelings for him – had apparently _fallen in love_ with him – but that he was having a hard time remembering why that was a bad thing, or even if it was. Why couldn’t he keep Castiel here? Make him his . . . well, not his queen, but something similar? If he wasn’t planning on trading the angel anyway, what was the harm?

                “Sam?” Cas said, much more gently this time, bending down so he could look at him eye-to-eye. Before Sam could even begin to form the idea, he was pulling the angel closer with one hand in his hair, their lips crashing together, and it felt like a huge weight had been lifted off his chest.

 

 

Of course, word eventually got around that the Boy King was smitten for his angel hostage. Sam was just grateful that Adramalech was the first to approach him about it, rattling off obligatory congratulatory nonsense before getting to the point: Suggesting Sam make Castiel his consort.

                Of course, at first, Sam was appalled at the idea of tying the angel down like he had already sworn not to, but Adramalech was quick to easy his concerns, assuring him that he could take a consort without a bond of marriage, or of any other sort, for that matter. Whatever it was on Earth, in Hell it was an appointed title given to someone the king trusted both personally and politically. It was actually very simple. “All you have to do is make an official announcement that you’re accepting him into your court.”

                “That’s it?” Sam had asked disbelievingly.

                “Well, I mean, there is sex involved. That definitely has to happen. I don’t know if you’ve done that yet, but. It’s tradition, an ancient ritualistic thing. You understand.”

                Sam answered that he did, and they hadn’t, but he could do it.

                Only it wasn’t that easy. Castiel wasn’t just a virgin, he had literally never done anything even remotely sexual before. Making out with Sam had been a huge first for Cas, and while he was a quick and enthusiastic learner, Sam was hesitant to take the step that they needed. He didn’t want to rush things with Cas. As crazy as it sounded, even to himself, he wanted to do this right.

                Cas didn’t agree. He argued that the sooner they fuck – or _copulate_ , to use his words – the better. Still, Sam put it off as long as possible, pushing Cas away on the pretence of work to be done, a war to be fought, or more commonly, simply nerves. It went on long enough that even Castiel got impatient. The next time they found themselves tangled up in Sam’s bed, just when Sam was about to push him away, Cas held him down, telling him in no uncertain terms that they were going to have sex now. Of course, if Sam really didn’t want to, Cas would have let him up immediately, but the way that the boy’s eyes darkened with lust said that he was very much on board with that plan.

                Castiel was gentle, although he was quick to tell Sam that he didn’t need to be. “Whatever is best for you.”

                Sam shifted his hands, and Cas released them so he could rest them on his hips, running up and down his legs where they straddled Sam’s waist. “This. This is perfect.”

                Cas was never a very expressive person, but his face positively lit up at Sam’s words, and in the blink of an eye, their clothes were gone. It took Sam a moment, but once his mind caught up with his body, he didn’t think he’d ever been so turned on in his life.

                True to his word, Sam took care of Cas, treating him as delicately as he had been treated. He opened the angel on his fingers slowly, taking his time, muttering reassurances into Cas’s hair as he pressed kisses to his throat. When he pressed inside, it was with the greatest care, rubbing soothing circles into the angel’s hips as Cas took him one inch at a time.

                “God,” Sam groaned, much to Castiel’s amusement. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?”

                At that, Cas actually chuckled before rolling his hips experimentally. “Because you’re too considerate, which is not necessarily a curse.”

                Sam stored that statement in the back of his mind to mull over at a time when he wasn’t being ridden within an inch of his life.

                He would have been embarrassed by how quickly he came if Cas hadn’t been right there with him, the angel’s face completely open with emotion and looking entirely human, if it weren’t for the glow of Grace as his wings twitched behind him.

                They didn’t leave the bed for a long time, although admittedly, they spent most of the time just resting, wrapped around each other and perfectly at peace.

 

 

Their announcement was surprisingly well received. The discontent with some demons was almost palpable, but Castiel was met with nothing but kindness, even though they all recognised that his new title was merely a formality at this point. Sam supposed that was one of the perks of having Cas around for so long before actually sealing the deal. Besides the angel’s new recognition, nothing much changed. Sam still left periodically to aid his troops in the war, and Cas still spent a majority of his time in the library. They had considerably more sex than usual – sometimes desperate and life-affirming, sometimes slow and reuniting – but besides that, life moved on as it had before.

                Of course, it was only a matter of time that Heaven would begin extensively looking for Cas, so although Sam’s heart sank to his feet when he was met by an angelic messenger, he was not surprised. The angels had finally decided that there were more important uses of their time and their soldiers and agreed to trade Dean for Castiel. Sam was to be in Detroit at a certain time, bring Cas and no one else, arrive unarmed, no negotiations, follow these instructions to the t or no deal.

                Sam immediately fled, never mind any other duties that required his attention. As soon as he barged into the library, Cas was greeting him, kissing him sweetly just like he always did and simultaneously breaking his heart in the process. Cas must have sensed something was off because he pulled back with a question written clearly in his expression. Sam found he couldn’t speak, silently handing his consort the message before backing off, pacing the floor with an exit nearby, seriously considering just bolting.

                “I guess we should begin preparations, then,” Castiel finally said. Sam couldn’t bring himself to look at him. It was barely noticeable, but the waver in his angel’s voice completely shattered Sam’s resolve. “For my departure.”

                “I can’t, Castiel,” Sam whispered, his voice shaking with barely withheld emotion. He was almost instantly wrapped in Cas’s arms, but that was a small comfort. Sam had been living so comfortably – ruling Hell, working steadily to get Dean back, finally having Castiel by his side – it only stood to reason that everything would come crashing down around his shoulders.

                “I already told you, Sam: I would hate to stand between a love like the one you have for your brother.”

                Sam turned in Cas’s arms and seized him by the shoulders, pushing him against the nearest surface violently. His despair rapidly shifted to a breed of anger he hadn’t felt in a long time – since Ruby had lied to him about where to find Dean. It felt good in a way that poking at an infected wound felt good, even though it hurt, and the absolute fear in Castiel’s eyes hurt him like nothing else.

                “You don’t understand,” he growled. “I _can’t_. I can’t give you up. I won’t let them touch you.”

                Cas raised one trembling hand to cup Sam’s jaw gently, running his thumb soothingly against the skin. Sam immediately stilled at the tender touch, horror slowly creeping in at what he had just said. Castiel had kept him so sane throughout everything; it wasn’t fair to lose it on him just because he finally found a burden he couldn’t find it in himself to shoulder. He was lightheaded, his emotions shifting like chameleon colours, and for the first time since Dean died, he was so, so lost.

                “God, Cas,” he breathed apologetically. “I’m so sorry. I – I didn’t . . . If you want to go, if you want to do this, I won’t stop you. It’s not my place to. You have every right to leave at any time, if you want.”

                “Shh, Sam,” Castiel soothed softly, wrapping Sam in his arms once again. “Don’t apologise. Come on.” Without another word, Cas took Sam by the hand and led them away, outside the library, outside the building and into the hedge maze on the south side of the grounds. The angel navigated the maze with ease until Sam was sufficiently lost, then they just wandered, hand-in-hand, and talked.

Cas forced Sam to look at the situation objectively, outlining the pros and cons of going through with the angels’ deal. Pros: He would get Dean back, as he had been trying to do as soon as he lost him. The war would end. A new treaty with Heaven would be established. Cons: He would lose Cas. And the angels were probably planning on ambushing Sam once again, but this time they would be smarter about it. Rather than putting pressure on Sam himself, they would put pressure on Dean, and possibly Cas, in order to get Sam to surrender. After all, Heaven needed both Dean and Castiel. They were nearly useless when separated, and it would be much more difficult to cheat them now that they had become more aware of Sam’s pressure points.

                On the other hand, Sam could choose not to go through with the deal, to try and trick the angels instead, or else take Dean back by force. Pros: If all went well, he would get to keep both CAs and Dean. Cons: The war would undoubtedly only worsen, and there was a high chance of failure. And it most likely finding a way to keep Castiel in Hell so the angels could not take him by force. It was dangerous and risky. Worst-case scenario: They kill Dean before Sam can kill them. Not-so-good-case scenario: They kill Sam and keep Dean.

                By the time Cas had finished laying out logic, they had reached the centre of the maze, where there stood a singular tree with low-hanging branches weighed down by plump blue fruits.

                “The real question is,” Cas continued, releasing Sam’s hand in order to wander around the tree, looking at it from all sides, “What do you _want_ to do?”

                “I want to do whatever you want to do,” Sam deadpanned, attempting to keep his emotions at bay in order to maintain some semblance of control.

                “That is not an answer. Consider your options carefully before you speak.”

                He didn’t need to. Sam already knew what he wanted, based on the arguments that Cas had laid out for him. But he wanted to take Cas’s desires into account. Whatever he chose didn’t just affect him; it affected both of them.

                “If I deal, I’ll most likely lose both you and Dean,” he pondered aloud. “If I don’t, I’ll probably get to keep you both, but even if I fuck up badly enough to lose Dean, I still get to keep you.”

                It wasn’t a decision, but he didn’t need to voice it for it to be obvious. Cas stopped walking in circles, halting across from Sam and reaching up to pluck a fruit from one of the lowest branches. It wasn’t immediately apparent to Sam what he was doing – until it was.

                _There is a way to keep him in place, if you so wish. And it’s completely painless. All the angel has to do is eat something that originated in Hell. Something as simple as –_

                “Cas,” Sam started in warning, but the angel was already biting into the fruit, locking eyes with Sam as juice ran down his chin. Of course, the angel was well aware of what he was doing, but that didn’t stop Sam from watching with a mixture of awe and dismay.

                “I’ve never seen a fruit like this before,” Castiel said casually. “Suffice it to say that my curiosity is satisfied.”

                “Cas,” Sam breathed, “Are you sure this is what you want?”

                Obviously, it was too late to take back, and the angel smirked. “I want whatever you want,” he answered cockily.

                Sam stepped forward and kissed the juice from his lips.

 

 

They were lying in bed, entirely naked, though lying was all they were doing. Cas had one arm firmly around Sam’s waist, his head pillowed on his shoulder, when he propped himself up on one elbow in order to look down at his king. There was nothing but love in their eyes, their hearts swollen with emotion.

                “You leave tomorrow,” the angel stated softly. Sam didn’t respond, waiting for him to continue. “What if you don’t return?”

                Sam frowned and tried to pull Castiel down into a reassuring kiss, but Cas refused to budge, concern creeping into his expression.

                “Sam.”

                “I will.”

                “But what if you don’t? What will I do?”

                Sam’s frown only deepened, and this time, Cas let himself be pulled back down.

                “I will come back,” he muttered against the angel’s lips. “I promise. But, in the extremely unlikely case that I don’t, I guess that means you get to rule Hell. You are my second, after all.”

                Castiel looked neither reassured nor put off by this. Instead of responding, he settled more comfortably on top of Sam. He didn’t think he could stand it – whether _it_ be ruling or living – without Sam by his side, but that was not a thought he needed to burden his human with at the moment.

                “What happens if you do return?” he asked, words muffled by the skin of Sam’s throat.

                “Then we’ll have awesome reunion sex.”

                Cas smiled and nipped the skin in front of him in playful chastisement.

                “Seriously?” Sam amended, ponderous. “I’ll give Dean as much time as he needs to adjust, then probably put him in charge of the Rack. I’ve heard he was pretty good at what he did while he was here.” His voice betrayed none of the contradicting feelings he had about that matter.

                “Then our secondary will become a tertiary?”

                “Sort of. I figure I’ll still be king, Dean will be the master of the Rack. You can be a scholar, if you want, be in charge of all Hell’s knowledge. Oh, and I definitely plan on marrying you for real as soon as I get back. That way, I can reintroduce you to Dean as my . . . would that make you a king as well?”

                “King consort.”

                “There you go. So I can introduce you as my king consort.”

                “Sam.”

                “Hm?”

                “You should know that I was the one who took Dean from Hell into Heaven. Dean will not be happy to see me.”

                “Oh. Yeah, I figured as much.”

                “Are you not angry?”

                “No,” Sam answered sincerely, wrapping his arms around Castiel. “You’ve changed a lot since then. I can’t blame you for who you used to be. Anyway, doing that helped me meet you, so I’m not complaining.”

                Cas relaxed into Sam’s hold. He could have spent forever there, not sleeping but resting peacefully, but too soon Sam shifted under him, and Cas knew it was time for him to go. He moved so Sam could get up, but before he got too far, Cas caught him by the wrist and pulled him into a searing kiss that was both a promise and a precaution.

                “I love you, Sam,” he said when they parted, letting Sam go because he knew that if he didn’t then, he never would.

                “I love you too,” Sam smiled, standing up slowly, delaying the inevitable. “I’ll come back to you. Soon. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue
> 
> As it turned out, the “awesome reunion sex” never happened. Not because Sam was unsuccessful – because he was, very successful in fact, emerging from the rendezvous with hardly a scratch – but because Dean was very badly injured. Sam had carried him back all the way from Detroit, and his brother remained unconscious for the entire trip. The angels had really worked him over.  
> Sam set up in a room where they wouldnot be disturbed and called for Cas immediately. By the time the angel arrived, Sam was frantic. His powers were designed for destruction, and he was powerless to help Dean when he needed him most.  
> Cas reassured Sam to the best of his ability and set about healing Dean, explaining that the only reason the angels would endeavour to hurt him was if he had been too stubborn, fought back against their regime. That gave Sam a bit of hope.  
> It was several days, but eventually, Dean did wake up, and Cas was right when he predicted that he would not be greeted warmly. It took Sam standing between them for Dean to finally stop trying to kill Castiel with his bare hands, although the older Winchester did look confused as to why this particular angel wasn’t fighting back. It took a long time for Dean to grow accustomed to Castiel, and he chewed Sam out whenever he got a chance – An angel, Sam?! Are you crazy?! After spending so long as Heaven’s chew toy, just the feeling of Grace was enough to make Dean jumpy. Sam got irritable; Cas was patient, and eventually that paid off.  
> Sam had been in a fragile state of mind recently, considering his reunion with his brother had been anything but joyous, so when Dean finally expressed that he had no issue with Castiel, Sam looked like he might faint with relief.  
> Surprisingly, it took very little time for Dean to adjust to life in Hell – really, adjusting to an angel’s constant presence was more of an issue. He had even less trouble accepting his role in charge of the Rack, stating simply that he wanted nothing more than to tear into something. He found it morbidly therapeutic, but both Sam and Cas were loath to complain about anything that put Dean at ease.  
> After that, things continued as they normally had, save for the extra addition to their little hellish family. Sam made good on his promise to marry Castiel, and the angel took to his new title extremely well. He also took up Sam’s offer to become a scholar and took the job in stride. Sam had never seen the angel so proud.  
> Before too terribly long, their life took on an air of normalcy, never mind that Dean left every morning to torture souls and an angel of the Lord was the king consort of Hell, it was as close to a normal life that the Winchesters could ever hope for, and they were perfectly happy living it as long as time permitted.


End file.
